Reply to thread

Message: <blockquote data-quote="larryfinnjr" data-source="post: 5681704" data-attributes="member: 99210"> "You fights better. I's not fighter, I make stick and stakes pointy for others." He points to the POS longsword at his side. "Not mine. Wish I's was better...." He trails off, head lowered as the beaten, dejected thing that he is (in Falkrunn's eyes at least), and drags his feet as he walks on back toward town.  "Stump has likker, and girls, and werks for peeples like you. Get this. Steal that. Kill him. Find her. Always has..." Smash seems to be trying to remember something. With a glimmer of memory, he seems to recite: "Has 'Sumthin fer Sumone and Sumone who needs Sumthin.' Or somethin. I think." "Heh. My orcish idjit, you are a font of brilliance. Stump's a fixer. Not a Had'rak, but rolls with 'em cause he gets new territory to work while he brings in whores, food, booze, whatever makes 'em happy 'til the local till runs dry. Then they pack up and move on, blazin' a path of hell before 'em."  Eyeing the pyro, Falkrunn swallows back the acid reflux he gets every time he remembers that very, VERY drunken night back in Billburry. The burn on his right asscheek has long healed over, but it still itches when he thinks about it. Fighting back the urge to scratch it and give Ches reason to snicker, again, he presses on, vowing for the umteenth time to just FORGET it..... GAH!</blockquote>